The weight of Shadow(part-6)

The weight of Shadow

Episode 6: The Lockdown Broke Us, But The Truth Buried Us

Elara hadn't slept in days. Ever since Mira was taken away,

the world had grown quieter, yet heavier. Her phone remained blank—no messages,

no missed calls, no sign of the girl who once felt like home. Every minute

without her felt stretched, endless, echoing with the sound of memories Elara

wasn't ready to lose. She checked her phone repeatedly, even knowing it

wouldn't light up. Hope, as always, was both a flame and a blade.

Then, one evening, a letter arrived—crumpled, with no name,

no stamp, no return address. It had likely been smuggled into her mailbox, and

the handwriting was unmistakable. Mira's. Her heart pounded as she tore it open

with trembling fingers. But the words inside weren't addressed to her. They

weren't meant for anyone. It was a confession, a bleeding piece of Mira's soul

on paper. "Sometimes, I feel like Elara would be better off without me. I'm

just a storm in her calm. I love her, but I know I destroy things."

Love? The word stared back at her like a secret too big for

the envelope to hold. Mira had never said anything like this aloud. She had

smiled, she had teased, she had cried on Elara's shoulder, but she had never

said she loved her. And now, that love came in ink and isolation, sent from a

place Elara couldn't reach. She held the letter to her chest and let her tears

fall silently. That night, she couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. And just when

she thought she might collapse under the weight of her own thoughts, her phone

buzzed.

It was a voice message. Not from Mira. From an unknown

number. The voice on the other end was hushed, nervous. A girl. "You don't know

why she was sent here, do you? She didn't just lose her phone. She lost

herself. And your name was the last thing she screamed before they took her."

Elara sat up straight, breath caught in her throat. The

words lingered in her mind long after the message ended. What had happened to

Mira?

What Elara didn't know—what no one had told her—was that

Mira's mother had found her journal. Dozens of pages filled with spirals,

drawings of fire licking the corners of dreams, and pages and pages of Elara's

name written in every possible emotion. There were confessions. Questions.

Fears. One particular line had pushed everything too far: "If Elara ever

leaves, I might just burn with everything else."

Her mother panicked. The words read like a warning, a

ticking time bomb. No one asked Mira what she meant. No one tried to

understand. They just labeled her. Unstable. Dangerous. Obsessive. The decision

came overnight. Bags packed. Phone confiscated. Journal destroyed. And Mira was

sent away. To a distant boarding school with metal gates, silent halls, and

rules stricter than prison.

But it wasn't healing that Mira found there. It was

punishment.

The moment she arrived, they stripped away her identity. No

phone. No freedom. Her reputation had already reached the campus. Students

whispered as she passed. *"That's the crazy girl. The one obsessed with another

girl. The one who snapped."

They pushed her tray away at lunch. Knocked her books down

the stairs. Mocked the way she curled her fingers into her sleeves when she was

anxious. Worst of all, one of the girls had somehow gotten a copy of Mira's old

journal pages. She read them aloud in the dormitory. Laughed at every tender

word Mira had written for Elara. "Burn yourself, freak," someone yelled one

night, and no one stepped in.

Mira didn't cry. She just stopped.

Stopped talking. Stopped eating. She scratched poems onto

tissues when she was alone in the bathroom because notebooks were banned. She

tried to sleep, but dreams turned into long tunnels of silence and shadow. Her

body weakened. Her voice vanished.

And at night, when the lights went out, the bullying didn't

stop.

One night, Mira lay in bed, eyes open in the dark. A group

of girls snuck into her room and poured water on her mattress. "Oops," one of

them whispered. "Did the freak pee herself again?" They stuffed her bag with

garbage, stole her socks, hid her toothbrush. Mira tried to stay still, to stay

quiet, but when she finally broke into sobs, they mimicked her crying like a

cruel choir.

That night, Mira curled up on the floor. She didn't sleep.

She didn't move. She just cried in silence until her pillow was soaked and the

sun had started to rise.

Still, one name lived inside her like a heartbeat.

Elara.

Far away, Elara's own life had taken a sudden shift. Her

parents had relocated her to a new school—a fresh start, they said. A clean

slate. But the universe had other plans.

It was the first day of the new term. Elara walked into her

new classroom, trying to quiet the storm inside her. She scanned the room,

expecting no one familiar.

Then she saw her.

Back row. Head down. Hair messy. Posture collapsed inward

like a shrinking star.

Mira.

Elara's breath left her body.

Their eyes met for just a moment. Elara opened her mouth,

but Mira looked away. There was no smile. No spark. Just emptiness.

Days passed. Elara didn't approach her immediately.

Something in Mira's face told her not to rush it. Instead, she watched.

Observed the way Mira flinched when anyone got too close. The way her hands

shook when she tried to write. She barely ate. Always sat alone. Every day

seemed like a quiet battle Mira was losing.

One afternoon, Elara watched in horror as Mira entered the

cafeteria, picked up her tray, and was promptly shoulder-checked by one of the

girls from her class. The tray flew from her hands, food spilling everywhere.

The room erupted in laughter. Mira didn't say a word. She simply knelt down and

began cleaning the mess with shaking hands. No one helped her.

Elara couldn't breathe. She stood behind the cafeteria

glass, heart pounding, fists clenched. She wanted to scream. To drag every one

of them out into the open and expose their cruelty. But she didn't move. Not

yet.

It wasn't until the next day that she exploded.

Mira was at her locker. The same group of girls had cornered

her again, grinning like hyenas. "Still writing love letters to your ghosts,

Mira? Or did they finally lock you up for real?"

Elara appeared out of nowhere.

"Enough."

Her voice echoed like thunder in the hallway.

The girls turned. Elara's eyes were blazing.

"She's not your entertainment. She's not your toy. You don't

know what she's been through. What you did to her. You think mocking someone's

pain is brave? It's disgusting. Leave her alone."

Silence.

Mira stared at her like she didn't recognize the girl

standing in front of her.

Later, they sat in the school garden. Mira had curled into

herself, knees hugged to her chest, staring at the soil. "Why did you do that?"

she asked, voice barely a whisper.

"Because no one else will," Elara said gently. "And because

I see you."

Mira blinked. Her voice cracked. "You shouldn't be seen with

me. They think I'm... broken."

"You're not broken," Elara said firmly. "You were hurt. And

they made it worse. But you're still here. That matters."

Tears slipped down Mira's cheeks. She didn't wipe them away.

That night, Elara went home and walked straight into the

living room where her parents were sitting. Her voice trembled but didn't

waver.

"We need to bring Mira back. Home. She's not okay."

Her parents exchanged glances. "Elara... that girl was

troubled. Her mother said she needed help."

"She needed love," Elara said sharply. "She needed someone

to ask her what was wrong, not ship her off like baggage. She was never the

problem. What happened to her in that place—the bullying, the silence, the

damage—that was the real danger."

She told them everything. The letter. The journal. The

broken tray. The mocking voices. The way Mira looked at the world now—like it

owed her nothing.

"Please," she whispered. "Don't let her be alone anymore."

There was silence.

Then, slowly, her father nodded.

"We'll talk to her parents. We'll try."

For the first time since the lockdown, since the fire, since

the fall apart of everything they knew, Elara felt the weight begin to shift.

And for the first time in weeks, she believed they just

might find their way back.

Together.

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading Episode 6 of Weight of Shadow.

This was one of the hardest chapters to write, emotionally, but also one of the

most important. It touches on real, painful topics—like emotional trauma,

bullying, misunderstood mental health, and the silence victims are forced into.

Mira's journey is not just fiction. It's the reflection of what many go through

in the shadows of our society, schools, and even homes. This episode shows that

sometimes, people don't need to be saved—they just need someone to stand beside

them.

Elara's choice to defend Mira when everyone else remained

silent is powerful. It reminds us that witnessing someone's pain and choosing

not to look away can change everything. That standing up for someone in their

worst moment can give them the strength to believe again.

If you've ever felt like Mira—silenced, hurt, judged, or

abandoned—know this: you matter. Your story matters. Your pain isn't invisible,

and you are not alone.

I hope you stay with Elara and Mira as they continue their

journey. Their bond, though scarred, is still alive. And sometimes, survival

begins when one soul says to another, "I see you."

Until next time, Stay soft, stay brave.

— The

Author -Aarya Patil